The Midnight (Plane) to Georgia

Well, I'm in Atlanta at the Oral History Association's annual national conference. I don't have my cord here to upload pictures, nor do I really have many that really capture what this experience has been. Mostly because you can't go all shutterbug-gy on your professor and the one other student you're traveling with.

That just wouldn't look right in pictures. That, and it would just be awkward. So mostly I just have pictures of this swank hotel room (no offense to the fall break hotel) and the outfit I wore today because I ironed and that made me feel old. Or at least a legitimate conference-er.

But then I texted mom and dad a picture of myself all dressed up just to make sure they were a part of this "first" in my life as if it were my first day of kindergarten. That kind of detracted from the scholarly mood I had going.

Why am I here, you ask? I'll steer clear of the very long philosophical path I could take on that one, for your sake and for mine. For my sake because I have a 4-5 page paper to write and for yours because you don't want a 4-5 page paper on my thoughts on the purpose of life. Win/win. I guess I just figured it was high time for an update, and for some reason I never feel as compelled to bring my random thoughts/happenings here as I used to, for better or for worse. I think it might be that I know I have a bit of a readership now and I don't want y'all to think that I actually expect you to care about the really inconsequential things going down.

I also would like to have on record that I spent 3 hours stuck at Reagan, then 3 1/2 hours on the plane (in addition to the 1 h. 45 m. flight time) with Dr. Rigelhaupt and Christiane and they were some of the most enjoyable hours of my undergraduate career (I threw that phrase in there to bring the professional ora back). We were so delirious last night when we got to the hotel around 11:45.

Finally, I wanted to feel like I was doing some sort of something productive while I watch Game 2 of the series (shame on them rangers for Game 1... but HEY! THE RANGERS ARE IN THE SERIES!!!) and also the office.

*Then* I will start my paper.

Oh, my. Forget the midnight train, yours truly will be burnin' the midnight oil. But this has been SO worth it. Shout out to the fine people at the Dean's office of UMW for limiting the cost of this weekend to my own procrastination. :)

On Unexpected Delights and Reminders

Most people who know me see me as a pretty off-the-cuff kind of person. It's how my humor, schedule, and brain work (not always successfully). Flexibility is my ebb and flow. So to begin feeling significantly thrown off by a relatively harmless happening means that something is a little too tightly wound up there in my head. Or, worse yet, my heart.

So as I kicked and screamed, God decided to carve out for me a brilliant retreat. An introvert's paradise, sponsored by Delta. An hour and a half sitting on the plane at the gate in Richmond threatened (and then ruined) my chances of catching my connection in Atlanta. Ironic, I thought, since we were on a "Delta Connections" plane. No later flights out of Atlanta meant staying the night there.

It was much more frustrating in my head than it sounds, believe you me.

I was just ready to be home and woe is me and all of that. It was easier to accept once there was no question that I'd miss the ATL flight and when the 3 year old girl in front of me started being hilarious.

"Momma, it's getting dar-yark-- we should probably get going..."

"Think we should tell 'em, Mom?"

"You know what's good about Georgia? If you like it you can love it, if you don't like it, you don't have to go there. It's easy."

"Momma, where I'm from?"

Just can't help but smile at these things. Then we got to Atlanta and there were patrons with their panties all in a wad enough for all of us, so I figured I should just let it go already and get happy because, well, it really wasn't anyone's fault. Don't try telling that to Joe Throwafit at the counter, though.

I got my vouchers and my boarding pass for 8:30 a.m. on Friday and went to set up shop at the food court. As I sat, munching on my amazing hot dog and fries (really the best of both that I've ever had), the place cleared out and I realized it was mostly just me and the airport. Well, and the people at different restaurants around the court joking around with each other with brooms and mops and "you missed a spots" and "that is not my jurisdictions." Airports are loud and bustling. But somehow it's an oasis for me and I'm okay to just have my piece of still amongst it all.

God knows that tendency of mine. Probably knew I needed it, too. And there it was. Like a wave thats repeatedly crashed against this pier even as I've desperately tried to fortify the exterior against its rush-- there is a purpose for this. It's not a nuisance or even an easy-going attitude to accommodate the glitch in plans. It's not anything of my doing either way-- not any more than a weakening pier can withstand the growing force of hurricane winds, there to make a point.

It finally crossed my mind that maybe God had a point to make. And maybe I should be taking notes. Or, better yet, communicating with Him. So I did, with surroundings that I've always loved. Knowing it was in His hands made the rest of the adventure not only bearable, but desirable. A theme our entire family is beginning to pick up on as we pack ourselves and 21 years up and move it all to Fayetteville.

I arrived at the Days Inn around 11:30 p.m. and was so ready to crash but just couldn't. I was too hyped up remembering everything I love about hotel rooms (after already falling back in love with airports). Even those crazy hotel rooms that you're staying alone in on creepy Phoenix avenue. I had to stay awake for this stepping stone into adulthood-- a milestone solo-mission-style sleepover. I really couldn't even contain myself, let alone choose which of my two double beds to sleep on (I went with the one on the right, not that you care).

Ghetto hairdryer coming off the wall.

Ice bucket! I didn't even have a drink that needed ice, but the trip to the ice machine is such an integral part of any hotel stay.

Terrible coffee that you just have to make because it's there and so convenient and so perfect for bathtime with unlimited, immediate hot water.

Sunflower and grapefruit soap: who knew?!

1993 wallpaper border straight out of my parents bedroom (really, the same one).

Calling the front desk for a wakeup call.

Lights that you have to turn on lamp by lamp (highly scary the first time you enter the room and can't see a dang thing).

Free wifi (by which to write the post that I did that night) and satellite tv (that I fell asleep to).

Complementary breakfast (that I was up too early for, rude!)

I even almost put my clothes in the drawers just because there were so many of them and, you know, because I could. There was so much freedom, and that is no joke.

I don't go about my days feeling stifled. I have a family very supportive of my independent venture north and friends who want nothing but happiness for me. More than that, I worship and seek to serve a God whose very purpose in sending a Savior was to bring freedom to a world then-stifled by Old Testament law. I wonder how many of us still feel burdened by a law eradicated 2000 years ago that finds new avenues to make itself applicable today. How many held back by Satan not dangling bad things in front of us (though he does plenty of that and I, personally, hate him for it) but convincing us that good will do. How many, like me, are frustrated by finding that good is never enough like he promises. See, if anything, my shackles are those that I clench around my own fist-- this idea that if I could just make everyone happy, the world would be a peace. I enslave myself to keeping the peace, to looking blameless, to pleasing people.

But here I was, in either a horror movie or a dream come true, fed, bathed, caffeinated, comfy and warm free to be. Free to admit my faults and recognize hurt. Free to clear my mind and let it be enough-- a springboard, at least-- that I was, indeed, fed and (relatively, hopefully... but in all honestly, truly) safe. Free to be glad about that and not guilty for it. Not guilty for feeling positive and rested, peaceful and optimistic. Guilty only for judging myself by a law, a standard, that I'm freed from to begin with. Guilty only for distancing myself from the real standard-- the one of grace set forth by the living God who wants to come into my every day, my every action. The righteous God who gave all He had to put out the self-righteous flame underneath me in favor of imparting it to me through refinement and forgiveness. The God who promises His presence in the process. He was there and we were free to meet and I don't know that I was appropriately awed at that at the time (I was sidetracked by the tricks listed above).

I am so thankful for it now. As the rest of this break has flown by and been such fun in the company of my blood folk, as I look forward to a lot of work-- academically and emotionally, and as I think of the future in terms of careers (per the airport time, I am re-pumped for the flight attending option) I am not only grateful for the oasis time, but also for that freedom to meet with Him during any of that which anxiously knocks at the door. Thankful for the delight, but mostly for the reminder that accompanied it.

The Eye of the Beholder

They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

(no I will not cite my source, I did entirely too much of that here)

On Wednesday night (when I masqueraded around like a member of the "Yates" family and as 180 middle school leader), Maddie (whom I convinced I was cool because I spelt her name the french way on her name tag: Made with an accent on the "e") kept giving me a hard time for proclaiming everything "beautiful."

Everything from someone's name to their hoodie (who doesn't love hoodie weather?!) to their court moves-- I had no problem expressing my affection.

She also said, "I wish I had a penny for every time you 'liked' something." And, having seen The Social Network for two nights in a row, I told her that Mark Zuckerberg did have a penny for every time somebody 'liked' something and then she looked at me like I'm crazy and now I'm hooked on Middle School 180.

Those kids are beautiful and their hearts are hungry. Most just want to be "cool" but no so much yet that they're afraid of acting CRAZY, which is one characteristic you just have to embrace about them. What's sad to me is that they're trying trying trying to be cool and few have any clue that they already are. What's ironic is that the kids who think they've attained the coveted moniker are actually the least fun of them all. I sit in a room discussing temptation with these girls and can't help but think "if you only knew." As Maddie makes fun of how quick I am with the word "beautiful", I wish I used it a little more carefully so that when I tell them they are beautiful girls, they'd hear the depth of my conviction and not just some slang.

They don't see themselves the way I see them. How could they? But if they could just listen, just get to know about me, trust me when I warn them of their instinct to chase chase chase "cool, rich, sexy, funny, hot, best, etc."

The thing about kids and the not-kids-for-much-longers is that the more time you spend with them, the more you'll see yourself in them. No matter your age. And, for me at least, the more you'll understand about God.

We don't see ourselves the way He sees us. How could we? But if we could just listen, get to know Him, trust Him when he wards us of our instinct to chase chase chase "cool," wealth, status, attention, popularity, addiction, pleasure.

Where I am, right now (oh yeah, that's coming), He thinks I am beautiful. That doesn't mean He loves my choices or my actions or my thoughts-- just like I know there must be some things going on in the lives of the ladies I sat in front of and discussed temptation with that I wouldn't so much approve of. But that wasn't what mattered as I looked them in their eyes and saw them for the potential they hold and the things they'll go through that don't have to be carried alone. Choices, actions, thoughts and all--God looks me in the eyes and says "pay attention, because you just don't know what is next."

The fact that He would do so--look past all the stuff He sent Jesus in the world to redeem to get right to my heart-- puts a conviction in me to confront what needs to change. Oh He sees it. Like when our RA came the other day and saw Solomon the illegal cat livin' up in our apartment. He waited for us to admit it. "Oh yeah, that's our cat..." That's when it's on the table for His forgiveness. How much better is "forgiven" than "looked past?"

"Looked past" lets things fester. Just like the desire for "cool" in the 7th grade becomes the desire for "cool" all wrapped up in sex and alcohol in the 11th, so pride right now becomes pride all wrapped up in hurt relationships and a haughty spirit down the road. I could see it for the girls, God can see it in me. To avoid it down the road means to address it and prepare a defense now.

Today. And then tomorrow. And then the next day. Each one with a beauty all its own. The beauty He saw in me the first day, and the beauty in watching me grow. I don't always see it. But it's in the eye of the beholder. And the beholder?

It's Him.

Reunited (and it feels so good!)

(originally written September 2, 2010)

It always manages to surprise me, how quick and seamless the transition back to the school world is. Summer seems like forever ago and I've chosen my topic for 4 different research papers this semester.

Welcome, Sadie.

Why thank you.

I say seamless. That probably isn't the best adjective. Fun, exciting, hilarious, adventurous, tiresome. Mostly. But seamless= not so much.

Noelle came last Thursday to hang out and get in some last bonding time before she, you know, gets a new roommate.

Oh yes, we celebrated that, too. By "we" I mean a bunch of us. Because we love Noelle and we are so thankful for the time to have been single with her. But we want her prepared for... not being single, if you will. I think we took care of that with a slew of new "outfits." And we even designed and modeled some of our own ensembles. There were some creative minds in the bunch. But mostly there were hearts that genuinely care for our sweet friend as she journeys into uncharted territory for all of us.

Then she had to leave to party on.

Meanwhile, back in FredVegas, I decided to fall back from adventures to Annapolis given that Arkie was acting weird.

Good thing, folks. Good. thing. Despite the fact that the car was acting slightly out of character, I agreed to help a couple of friends by following them to a relative's house, where they could drop off their cars to be serviced and I would drive them back to their house.

I said "I have nothing else to do this afternoon. Why not?!" (read: good thing I didn't have anything else to do....). (You're welcome for that small dose of dramatic foreshadowing).

So I get to the sketch driveway in Summerduck, Virginia (no lie). (and no, the AAA people didn't know where it was, either). (yes that was more dramatic foreshadowing). I put the car into park. Or I at least made the gear shift line up with the "P". Whether or not the car is actually in park is apparently relative these days. Imagine my surprise, then, when I took my foot off of the brake and the car goes, oh, about half a mile, before it clicks that something might be wrong. I'm that sharp. So I get my foot back on the brake about 2 seconds before rear-ending Chris's truck into the house/auto shop off of the unnamed road, which is off of the unnamed road, which is off of the unnamed road.

Thank God for emergency brakes.

No really, I did. Right then and there. Because that is how I roll. Pun intended. Come to think of it though, I don't know if it was right then. Right then I was trying to restart the car and was probably slightly distracted by that it wouldn't. Arkie wouldn't even try. That is when I started saying goodbye to my (no longer) faithful compadre. Once the car wouldn't start at all and was stuck in drive indefinitely and Chris was in the driver's seat-- that's when I said a small thank you for emergency brakes.

So we called AAA and went through 4 representatives because they couldn't understand why a girl from Little Rock would be in Summerduck, VA. Two things regarding this point. A. I've never once been treated like the move to VA was a step down from AR, so score Arkansas! (AR-1, VA-4,001) Don't get me wrong, I love them both, but Sarah Holljes, who is soon moving to the Natural State can attest, people usually rank the Commonwealth over the origin of WalMart. Ungrateful people. B. I, too, had no idea what I was doing in Summerduck.

While on hold with these truly trying to be of help people, I heard about 50 times that Justin Timberlake-- "that's right, Justin Timberlake!!"-- designs for Triple A apparel which you can find at "A. A. A. dot com." Exhilarating. I will do just that when I get back to civilization, thank you, recorded sales lady.

*September 24, 2010*

I started writing this story forever ago and have just now revisited the post. I still remember it all so vividly. It's just an out-of-body kind of experience when you're outside of civilization in the whacky parts of Virginia with people you don't really know that well and then they call up Dave the crazy tenant who shows up in his old truck on some rampage about how much Chris owed him for this because he was supposed to mow his Mother's lawn by sundown.

And then you can't find your phone. So you interrupt Dave's explosion to ask to look in your bag in the bed of the truck so you have it if, you know, something happened.

I don't care to dream what "something" might entail, but you can never know.

And then Dave starts talking about how feminism ruined his appetite because now women can't cook and then you get told you look like a person who could spare $40 anyway when that's the tow bill and you're hauling things like a Tivo and a sack of water bottles and sparkling grape juice (and Dave makes a comment along the lines of "you're probably a virgin, too, huh?") because you're not sure if you'll see you car after A and J Automotive gets done with it and you've emptied it's contents into the truck bed.

All of this while dressed to the nines for the Annapolis wedding shower I didn't end up going to because I sensed Arkie was done for. Heels and jewelry and all. Not exactly Summerduck style.

It's fine, though, because when I got home Claire was making us all dinner and we laughed over candlelight and talked through our first weeks of class, respectively, and committed ourselves to starting a fresh, new week.

And that's exactly what we did. (that was before I got a ticket once I got Arkie back because we'd used the temporary parking pass from the dashboard to write down the towing numbers and I left it with Chris and couldn't print out a new pass. What do you do but laugh?)

I was really glad it all happened, though.

A. Back in Peru, I helped pass out letters Chris and Lizzie wrote to the kids and watched as they beamed because their "future mom" and "future dad" cared about them. I made note in that moment that I really didn't know Chris and Lizzie that well and probably should because they use the money that they manage to save to physically visit these kids and when they don't have the money to write because they care. This was my chance. In a strange package.

B. There are awesome freshmen at the BCM this year. For some reason this is the first year that I've really considered what it was like to come to this place and not know a soul and have no real way of exploring the city around me (besides random journeys in Ruby). It's like I got a car and life took off and the opportunities were endless. I lost the connection to the days of wishing someone would offer a ride and then the amazing blessing it was to have people take an interest in the newcomers. So as I was meeting the new freshmen, my car was taken from underneath me and I was leveled with these awesome people and put in the place of humility where I always belonged.

C. I was re-acquainted with the blessing it is to have a Dad to call when my car is broken and I'm stranded (well, until Dave came to the rescue). First, just to hear his reassuring voice. Secondly, to know he'll do whatever he can to help. What did I do to get that? The answer isnothing. And so my mind wanders to the people who don't have that in life. The voice and the means to help from their dads. Then my mind has a talking-to with my heart and tells me to do something about it but the problem is I don't know and there are papers and tests and weddings and parties and family and fun to distract myself with until I remember that none of it is as satisfying a cause as actually taking Jesus and his commandments at His Word andhelping people.

D. Along those lines-- and despite the tone I take in this post to be humorous because reallywhat even happens in Summerduck, Virginia?-- my time in the rural parts and my interaction with people that Sunday reminded me that I am no better than Dave. The unnamed streets that AAA can't find are filled with people no less important to God than the people on College Ave. I am no more-- or less, for that matter-- loved by God for wearing a ruffly dress from Target and having an iPhone to call for help from a loving home.

So now I'm reunited with the striking young sportscar with wide hips and seats that hug you and reminded of things my busyness would've sped over.

The Rest of It

On Saturday Noelle asked me to say a blessing over the meal at her wedding.

Her WEDDING.

I really couldn't resist saying something about or to both of them, which is good because Noelle said I didn't have to. I had a whole spiel, but I spared hungry guests from me sharing. Those of you reading need not feel so lucky. Here in black and white is the rest of it (or something like it):

____________________________________________________

Thank you so much for giving me a voice on your special day to try to convey to you what you mean to every person in this room and to me. I don't know that I have the words.

As a matter of fact, you should all know, I initially refused this position. Noelle called me in the hours after Chris proposed and said, "Okay, so, I got asked a big question tonight, but now I have a question for you!" I said, "Okay..." not know what to expect. "Will you be my maid of honor?!" And I said "No!"

"Did you really just say no to me?!"

"Well. Not no, no. Just... me? really?"

I couldn't believe that she would immediately think of me to best honor her through this entire process. But the honor was all mine. And in typical Noelle fashion, she had more confidence in me than I knew to have in myself. She does that for people. And she takes that skill into a career full of treating people like they are good enough just the way they are while she equips them to be better than they knew the could be because she saw the potential in them first.

Noelle and I weren't supposed to be roommates. Statistically speaking, she had about 1,000 profiles to choose from when she decided to approach mine on facebook. So the math was against us. More importantly, we shouldn't have been roommates because we both lied on the roommate questionnaire. She said she loved movies and me? I wrote that I like to grocery shop in my free time. Still, despite the fact that Noelle falls asleep in every movie she starts ever(unless it's How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days) and I let things mold in the fridge before I head to the store, our friendship survived the lies and roommates we were.

The first time I heard of Chris was the week after Noelle's 18th birthday, our freshman year. He missed her birthday and to make up for it, he sent her internet flowers for days. Thus we at UMW dubbed him "Intro" and he remained in our minds that desperate guy madly in love with Noelle. It apparently worked for him.

The first time I met Chris was for Noelle's birthday sophomore year. He wanted to surprise her, so he flew in the day before, which happened to be my birthday. We texted back and forth to get her to the perfect spot to be surprised while I tried to act nonchalant over lunch with Noelle. Despite the absolute delight the entire weekend was, they both apologized multiple times to me for infringing on my birthday celebration (as. if.). It's that sort of consideration that makes them a couple you want to spend time with.

Probably my favorite moment of the entire relationship was the night before Chris proposed when he called to ask my opinion on this and that and to go through the plan with me one more time. Everything from which pants to wear or should he wear a jacket to where should the ring go to should there be music (I can now freely admit before friends and family that I actually thought Taylor Swift's "Love Story" was a good idea...) and was any of this a good idea at all. The one question he didn't ask was in regards to cologne, which he'd picked months in advance.

The next year presented its fair share of challenges for the happy couple. Distance gets in the way of planning a wedding and a life together. And Noelle and Chris had the tell-tale "let me call you back when I'm not so upset about this" moments any tried and true couple knows all too well. But there were also calls to say "I love you" and nighttime devotions to balance out the weight of life. Thus, it wasn't solely a year of challenge. Character marks those days, and it shows in their relationship today.

I'm not married, so my advice is scarce. But I encourage the two of you to find the older couples on the dance floor tonight and recognize that they didn't fall in love with each other's wrinkles and decrepit joints. Once upon a time they were two young people who looked at each other and believed they could do life better together than apart. My mom has a quote posted on our fridge at home referencing her very own Chris that says, "It takes a good husband to be better than none." That's what you are to Noelle, Chris. It's funny, but Noelle is an independent woman. So for her to say that she couldn't and wouldn't want to do life without you speaks directly to your character. That's what you'll be to her in 60 years, I know.

I challenge you to take the time at the weddings of friends and family in the future to dance-- at each step recommitting yourselves to the promise you made today. I know not every day you will feel like taking each other by the hand and twirling, but when there are dogs and kids to be fed, decisions to be made, bills to be paid, and career moves to be discussed, I hope you can remember tonight and the people in this room who came to dance in honor of you.

Thank you for the very distinct honor of watching your relationship happen from the front row. I feel like I speak for every person here when I say "I love and support your marriage."

________________________________________________

I never would've actually said all of that in front of everyone (and given credence to this idea that I must speak for 15 minutes every time someone gives me a platform) but all of these things came to mind when I was thinking up what to say as we fell asleep Friday night-- the last sleepover.

What a fun weekend! I couldn't believe how many times I actually stopped to remind myself to take in that very moment, and so I have so many vivid memories where I expected it all to simply be a blur.

Memories with these people,

and these

Oh! And these.

(who did this:) (with some help)

Back to the point:

More than anything I'm excited. Because now they are in an entirely new chapter. It's chapter where they belong and I can't wait to hear about and be encouraged by it. I'm already encouraged because God has shown Himself faithful through the entire process-- for the Ulmans, yes.

But also to this MOH, who was pleasantly surprised by God's ability to bless in completely new and different ways-- a new roommate, an entirely different living situation, a new job, a closer relationship with Him. God just keeps going, making the seasons of life incomparable, as all of them exist to point to Him-- the attributes that make Him God and not me. Praise the Lord.

And given what He's done so far, I can't wait. For the rest of it.

Going to the Chapel

and their gonna get maaaaried?!?

It cannot be possible that this day has finally come. It's quite surreal, but I can't wait to dive in deep tomorrow. I should go to sleep right now, as even just the anticipation of events is exhausting (and also because I'm sure my health would thank me for the rest in its attempts to rid my body of whatever is causing this head and stomach ache of great proportions)-- but I'm honestly too excited to do it!

My paper is done, my presentation well-thought out and now it's finally hitting me that this is all about to happen. I know it sounds like I'm the one getting married here, so let's clarify.

She is getting married.

The one who just turned 21 on monday and who I hugged in a stairwell as we buzzed in opposite directions just three years ago.

God changed my life when he brought Noelle in. He became the God who could exceed expectations and meet me where I dreamed big. He provided. And he did so in large part, especially in the beginning but even still, through the bubbly blonde from Annapolis with the almost equally crazy family and the spirited smiles and early bedtime.

She is my Timothy-- the one who I'd send in my place in order to be best represented. My sister in Christ. The bride. And as we embark on this weekend of celebration for her and her groom, I just pray that God give them a boldness in going about the first few uncertain months of their marriage.

"For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love and of self-discipline." -2 Timothy 1:7

And now I really am going to bed, because I've got to get going.

To the chapel!!

Starting Now

More on life as in "event to event" coming soon.

But for now there's just time to convey what I'm learning about He Who ushers the events along.

On Saturday my friends were so fabulous to celebrate with me in the city.

You know the one.

I guess I'm just weird or something because my idea of celebrating was to go to church. Just to put the crazy in crunk birthday celebrating. It wasn't to be high and mighty or cool (especially temperature wise, because the place was hot with people) or in wide open spaces to ring in adulthood (again with the mass amounts of people).

You see, what I love about a wedding is of course the couple and the party and the love and the dreams about the future. But what I really love is that more than anything it is a dedication-- a recognition that for better or for worse, as humans, we are much more prone to mess things up than to admit to fault and make things better. Thus, the marriage is presented as an offering to God-- a promise to give it to Him before giving it up.

I don't have a wedding in sights. But why wait?

Birthdays, like weddings, are about the person and the party and the love and the dreams for the future-- why miss out on the dedication aspect until that one wedding day that will go by too quickly and for that matter is not even necessarily going to happen simply because it's what I've pictured since I was able to walk down a pretend aisle in a white dress-up dress.

At 21, there is no wedding for me. But there are "I dos" to be said.

Sadie, do you care about poverty?

Sadie, do you care about sadness?

Sadie, do you care about honoring me?

Sadie, do you care to know me more than you know about me?

Sadie, do you want my will in your life? Do you spend time counting the cost?

Sadie, do you commit your fears to me as you wait in anticipation for direction?

"I dos" to be pondered. Commitments to be made. Especially as a single 21 year old anticipating adulthood.

So I took the attention and the love and the company and the well-wishes and the gifts and the party intended for me to the alter to leave it there for Him-- careful not to be foolish enough to think that I've earned or deserved or been entitled to the absolute privilege of a life I've been able to live for 21 years.

It's been a gift.
An unexpected gift.

I got to tell God that I don't expect these fabulous things from Him in order to continue to love Him and enjoy His plan and delight in His promise that He has something much better not only for me (after all, I already have it pretty good) but also for the people who really need better. Who live without enough. Love, water, resources, access, care, strength, life.

I've got love, water, resources, access, care, and strength. I even have life. 21 years of it.

What I want is to have these things in such abundance that they spill into the lives of deep, admitted need.

I want the humility of recognizing my own areas of true need, not wasting time with surface level complaints regarding temperature or taste or smell or personal preferences that are okay, but not what I'm ultimately convinced of... that ultimately are not my hope.  I want to give voice to truly convicting things and to glorifying the God who does something with those convictions.

I want life. Not time, necessarily.

I want to remember that my time is limited, that the next day is not guaranteed to me and that even if it was, there is no guarantee that my life as a quantitative whole would mean something.

I want to be as desperate as those in physical need in my approach to God, asking that He grant spiritual life to my days. And in the process I want to help meet those physical needs.

As Mark Batterson preached on Saturday, I want to make worthy complaints to the One who can do something about it. I want the petty complaints out of my daily conversations-- bigger picture: I want the me out of "my" life.

The Old Testament book of Habakkuk is all about the minor prophet getting upset by what he sees in the world and asking God to do something already. So then God said, in essence, "you're not going to like it." The Lord says that comfortable had to look a little worse before change would look a little better.

And as Habakkuk looked around at injustice and terrible quality of life around him, he coupled his worthy complaints with reverent resolve to do something about it, knowing that ultimately God would bring change and that ultimately his joy and strength was the Lord, not the circumstances in his own life or the lives of others.

And he said all of this with stringed instruments, in praise.

Part of complaining about the right things-- the things that break God's heart, too-- is appropriately appreciating all that I do have. Being thankful for the good I see provides the motivation to confront the less desirable things. It also means recognizing it while I have it, knowing full well that with or without the "good", God would still be good.

I don't do stringed instruments so much. I do pictures, though.

So with my 21st birthday commences "365 days of thankfulness"-- a picture for every day to convey my appreciation for life as I seek out God for life. It focuses on my own life for the express purpose of me recognizing that I have so little to complain about. It also reminds me that those complaints I do encounter in my daily thought life belong with God and not mixed in with a world struggling with worthy complaints. 

Day 1:

I'm thankful for sunflowers.

I'm thankful that they only stay fresh on the table for one week and make you stop and appreciate their beauty while it lasts.

I'm thankful for Noelle (who bought them for me on a weekend intended to celebrate her) and the beauty of college living with her while that lasted.

I'm thankful for the many things she and the sunflowers have in common-- most notably, the ability to brighten my day.

Also I'm thankful for the unexpected blessing that they both were.